


Birthday Wishes

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Canon Related, Canon Universe, Cute, Fluff, I Hope I'm Not OOC, I Tried, I hope, Idiots Go Shopping, M/M, USUK - Freeform, birthday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2014-07-02
Packaged: 2018-02-07 02:20:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1881447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every year, Britain spends his birthday alone, and he plans to do the same this year.<br/>America, however, has other ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Birthday Wishes

**Author's Note:**

> I've been meaning to write this for a while, so here it is, my first Hetalia fic!  
> I hope it's okay, I started writing it before 10:00 and didn't finish until 2:00, so sorry if it gets weird or anything (that tends to happen when it gets late).

Despite many teasing jibes that this was not the case, Britain was quite happy to spend his birthday alone, thank you very much.

It's not as if it mattered, anyway. Why bother throwing an enormous celebration for an anniversary so unimportant as this one? Ordinary -  _mortal_ - people would make a fuss, of course, but after the first few centuries it really began to lose it's novelty.

Besides, Britain would insist, he _did_ celebrate his birthday. He would allow himself to lie in for an extra ten minutes, and maybe even buy an expensive bottle of rum or whisky. After that, he'd give himself an extra half an hour off work, and spend the extra time reading, or watching Doctor Who re-runs. This was the way it had been since the seventeenth century (except, of course, in those days he would have had to make do without the Doctor Who).

Naturally, none of this had mattered to the other nations. After the world meeting, France had taken a great delight in chanting "black sheep of Europe!" until even Japan was begging him to stop talking, whereas Canada had just looked as if he felt sorry for him.

 

So, by the time that Britain had finally escaped their clutches, he was decidedly not happy to bump into America.

"Britain! Dude," America exclaimed in his usual cheery voice. "You didn't tell me it's your birthday tomorrow!"

Britain raised his thick eyebrows. "It's my birthday tomorrow."

America ignored this, slinging his arm around the island nation's shoulders with a grin. "So, what'cha doing?"

"Nothing interesting," Britain ignored the arm and replied vaguely, attempting to be distant enough so that the bloody yank would get fed up with bothering him and leave.

"Dude, that's so lame," America complained, before his sky blue eyes lit up. "I know! You should hang out with me!"

_"What?"_

"I was going to hang around here for a few days anyway," America continued, gesturing around to the country of England in general. "You could show me some cool places. Hey! We could even have a party at your place!"

"America, hold on-"

"It's going to be so awesome, I can't wait-"

 _"America!"_ Britain interrupted, cutting off the taller nation's speech. "Would you shut up for five minutes?"

"But why?" America frowned, confused. "You weren't saying anything."

"I was, you just couldn't hear me because of your obnoxiously loud voice. Anyway, the point is, I'm not going to do anything for my birthday. I haven't done for centuries, and I'm certainly not going to start now."

"Aww, please?" America whined, his smile drooping.

"No. I like spending it alone, and that's how it's going to stay."

 

* * *

 

 

 _Stupid bloody yank. I can' t believe I let him guilt me in to doing this,_ Britain silently cursed America as he viciously yanked on his tie, leaning over his bathroom sink to look in the small mirror. He was officially behind schedule - America had promised to be at his house for 5:00pm, and it was already 4:55pm. _I'm the bloody United Kingdom, why am I letting this idiot push me around anyway?_

He cursed out loud as he struggled with his emerald green tie, his fingers shaking for some reason.

 _Why am I even wearing a tie? This is America I'm going out with, he's only going to make me feel like an over-dressed prat,_ Britain thought, before entertaining the thought that maybe it wouldn't be a bad thing to dress better than America.

A loud knocking on the front door interrupted his thought process, and with a jolt he realised that he'd been standing there motionless for five minutes. Quickly adjusting his tie and pulling on his suit jacket, he hurried down the rickety stairs of his London home and opened the front door.

America was standing there, wearing frayed jeans, a red printed t-shirt and his beloved jacket, his smile as blinding as the sun that shone overhead in the west. He looked oddly charming. Crazily, it was almost as if he had brought the sun to England with him - after all, it usually rained on Britain's birthday. Britain mentally shook away these thoughts, blinking at the unusually bright late afternoon sunlight as he squinted up at America's face.

America took one look at him in his suit and snorted, although not unkindly. "What the hell? We're only hanging out, dude! Do you always dress like this?"

"No, and will you please stop calling me 'dude'?"

"Sorry. Dude. Now come on! We're going to have an awesome time!" America exclaimed, dragging Britain out of his old house and slamming the door, as Britain thanked the unicorns that he already had his bag with him, otherwise he would have been locked out with no money. He pointedly ignored the fact that America's hand was grasping his wrist, and although it was rather tight, it wasn't uncomfortable. He also neglected to think about the fact that they were almost holding hands.

They made it as far as the end of the street before America ground to a halt, his grip on Britain's wrist loosening slightly. "Um... Where should we go first?"

" _I don't know,_ idiot!" Britain hissed. "This was your idea!"

America's bright eyes scanned the busy streets, before widening. "There!" He pointed, not bothering to explain what "there" was as he dragged Britain off again.

Fortunately, Britain had lived in the same house long enough to understand what he meant. "No." He protested, using a great proportion of his strength to resist America's incessant towing, halting just before they crossed the road.

America pouted ridiculously. "Why not?"

"I am _not_ going clothes shopping with you." Britain protested, shaking his head.

"Aww, come on Britain! I really need some new clothes - and so do you, you've worn the same outfit to world meetings for months now."

"So have you!" Britain snapped, his ears and cheeks reddening.

America frowned. "Come on. It'll be fun."

"No!" Britain insisted, remembering the last time they had been shopping together. It had been a total disaster, and had almost ended with America being arrested for vandalism, despite his protests that it was an accident.

The pout was back, but this time it seemed genuine. "Okay," America said miserably. "If you really don't want to, then I guess it is your birthday. I was just trying to make things fun for you..."

_Don't give in. Don't give in. Damn it, don't do it-!_

Britain heaved a tremendous sigh. "Fine, let's go."

America's face lit up so quickly that you'd have never noticed that he'd previously looked upset. He let out a small cheer and tugged Britain towards the huge clothes shop, promising to find him "something totally cool!"

 

* * *

 

 

"Hey Britain, what about this?" America called, holding up what was possibly the most atrocious shirt Britain had ever seen. It was a hot pink monstrosity, covered in images of hamburgers, french fries, and kittens.

"It's not really your colour," he replied tactfully, not wanting to upset America. After all, the times he had been honest about America's terrible taste in shirts, the taller nation had insisted on leaving the shop because the place was apparently not his style. Because of this, they were now on their sixth shop, and Britain was growing rather tired. Not tired enough, however, to allow America to buy something as awful as the shirt he was currently contemplating.

"Well then, it's lucky they have a white version!"

This was possibly the longest shopping trip Britain had ever been on. Glancing around quickly, he spotted a halfway-decent light blue shirt, the exact same colour as America's eyes. "Here, try this," he suggested, gently lifting it off the rail and handing it to him. "Oh, and these," he added, spying dark grey pants and a matching waistcoat, and gesturing at them.

America made a thoughtful noise. "I don't know, it's kind of plain..."

Britain rolled his eyes. "That might be for the best," he murmured under his breath, almost sighing in relief as America put the pink nightmare back onto the rail.

"All right, but you have to try on something I pick out!" America decided, after staring at the shirt for a while.

Britain huffed in exasperation. "For God's sake, we're not children!"

America dismissed that statement with an absentminded shrug, before turning away and searching through another clothes rack.

"Here!" He announced finally, pulling out a tight leather jacket.

"Seriously?" Britain arched an eyebrow.

"You always look so formal all the time, you should try something more relaxed. This will suit you," America said, as if he was some kind of expert, as he retrieved the other articles of clothing that Britain had picked out.

"Fine!" Britain huffed, grabbing the jacket and marching towards the changing rooms, glaring when he caught sight of America's smug grin in a mirror.

 

The changing rooms were spacious and consisted of about ten stalls, all covered by thick black curtains. They were also all completely empty, apart from the two nations.

Britain shrugged off his suit jacket, before pulling the leather jacket on over his shirt and tie. America's loud humming as he changed didn't allow Britain to think much, but as he turned to the mirror and looked at the way the black leather clung to his slim frame, he realised that he really didn't look that bad. In fact, he thought, he actually looked all right.

America's humming paused, and he called to Britain to ask if he was done.

They stepped out of the stalls, and even as Britain felt it, he denied the widening of his eyes and the slight reddening of his cheeks. America looked... For all his years spent speaking English, Britain could not think of a single word to describe how America looked.

 _For God's sake, get a hold of yourself,_ he lectured himself. _It's just a suit._

Britain cleared his throat awkwardly. "Well, it's certainly better than most of the things you normally wear."

America, however, didn't come out with any kind of retort. Instead, he just mumbled, "you look really nice."

He said it so quietly that Britain barely even heard him. Then again, perhaps he was just shocked because the United States of America, the Hero, the Free Land of Liberty and Justice, had actually _mumbled._

Britain was saved from replying by America's stomach, which chose that moment to rumble loudly. In an instant, America's usual smile was back, and he chuckled, patting his stomach. "Man, I almost forgot to eat dinner!"

"Yes, quite," Britain agreed, thankful for a distraction from America's general appearance. In truth, he wasn't even that hungry, but if eating could help him ignore the alien feelings inside him right now, he'd take it.

 

* * *

 

 

They paid for their new clothes, and headed out of the shop into the rapidly darkening street. Britain hadn't realised exactly how much time they'd spent in the various shops, and he was surprised to see that it was nearly 8:00pm.

"Time flies when you're having fun, huh?" America asked, glancing over Britain's shoulder to look at the shorter nation's pocket watch, and Britain froze at their sudden proximity. He could even feel America's body heat. If he wanted to, he could-

Before Britain could even be shocked and worried at the direction his thoughts were taking, America interrupted his train of thought with a laugh. "A pocket watch? Who even has those anymore?!"

"I do," Britain replied stiffly, stepping away from America and gesturing out towards the street. "What would you like to do now?"

America frowned lightly. "But Britain, it's your birthday. You should choose."

"I really don't mind," Britain insisted, getting slightly desperate for a distraction from the weirdness of his thoughts. _It's probably just because I usually spend this day alone,_ he tried to convince himself. _Maybe I am just a little bit lonely. I **don't** fancy him. Not at all._

America glanced around, before his eyes landed on a fairly large pub. "Hey, it's a pub!" He exclaimed a little too loudly, making passers-by turn their heads to stare at the loud American. "You like pubs, don't you?"

Without waiting for an answer, he took off towards the pub, gesturing for Britain to follow, although he didn't hold his wrist this time. _And that does not disappoint you,_ Britain told himself sternly.

 _The Silver Railway_ was fairly crowded for a Wednesday evening, and Britain instantly noticed why. It was karaoke night. He supressed a groan. _Brilliant. A night surrounded by drunken idiots thinking they can sing._ Britain knew that he should probably be kinder about his people, but really, he had been to enough karaoke nights to make generalisations.

America grabbed an empty table that was too close to the karaoke machine for Britain to be entirely comfortable, and immediately started chatting to the young waitress who was on her way past. Of course, she seemed to forget about the dirty plates in her hands when she began talking to the handsome blond man. Coming from someone who had been out on social occasions with America multiple times, he recognised this as entirely normal and quietly sank into the other chair.

"Can I give you my order or shall I go to the bar?" America asked with that disarming smile of his.

The waitress smiled back. "You're supposed to go to the bar, but just tell me what you'd like, I'll be happy to get it for you."

Britain almost snorted, the waitress was being so obvious with her flirting. Eventually, once she had long outstayed her welcome, she left to get their drinks and food.

"So," America grinned. "Are you having a good birthday so far?"

"It's been fairly enjoyable," Britain admitted. Although shopping was hardly his favourite activity, he couldn't deny that today hadn't been too bad.

America's expression was triumphant. "I knew I could make you have a good day!"

"What do you mean?"

"Well..." America spoke hesitantly. "You always look so tired and grumpy all the time. I thought that maybe it was because you don't have many good days, or something."

Britain wasn't cruel enough to remind America that part of why he was so "grumpy" was because of the American Revolution. Not that he would admit that to himself - he maintained his stance that he liked being alone. Besides, America had changed a lot since those days. It was hardly fair to blame the America of today for the actions of the America of 1783, despite how much it might have hurt him. He wasn't even drunk to start on that - yet.

"America, I..." Honestly, Britain hadn't even thought that America would have noticed. He never was known for his ability to read the mood, after all.

America waved his hand dismissively when Britain failed to form a coherent sentence. "Let's not dwell on that. Tonight, we should party!"

 

"And then Henry VIII said... 'Off with her head!'" Britain slurred the punch line of his infamous Tudor joke, waving his ale in the air.

America roared with laughter, almost breaking his glasses as he removed them to wipe away his tears. "Dude! That's hilarious! Let me tell you my President Hoover joke..."

"You've told me that joke about five times already!" Britain reminded him, almost spilling his ale all over his torso. It was getting to about 10:30pm, but the pub was still packed full of people, many of whom were watching the men with varying expressions of amusement, disapproval, and curiosity.

"Oh yeah," America nodded. Fortunately, America wasn't really drunk, just tipsy enough to find the Tudor joke funny, and to start forgetting minor things. "You don't tell many jokes, do you have any more?"

"If I told more jokes, maybe I'd actually have friends," Britain hiccupped, laughing when he saw America's somewhat sad expression. "Hey, America! Can we go on the karaoke machine?"

"Yeah!" America grinned, standing up. Luckily, Britain wasn't so drunk that he couldn't walk. Together, they walked to the karaoke machine, and looked through the song selection.

"Let's do... Let's do Yellow Submarine!" Britain exclaimed, pointing wildly at the screen.

"Yellow Submarine isn't on there."

"Well why the bloody hell not?! What is there?"

"Umm... Call Me Maybe, One Time, What Makes You Beautiful..."

Britain frowned in distaste. "We're doing Yellow Submarine."

"But it's not-"

"Not here, idiot. Let's go to my house! We can have our own karaoke night!"

America smiled at Britain's unusual enthusiasm. The shorter nation was drunk enough to act more carefree, but not drunk to the point where he started questioning his religion and shouting at people. America decided that he liked this side of Britain, although not as much as he liked sober Britain. "Okay, let's go!" He agreed.

 

* * *

 

 

Once they had gotten back to Britain's ageing house, Britain suddenly had no interest in singing Yellow Submarine (much to America's disappointment). Instead, the emerald eyes flickered towards the huge bookshelf, the bottom row of which was stacked with films and box sets.

A smile that could only be described as evil formed on the Brit's face. "Let's watch a horror movie!"

"No way!" America protested. "Dude, you are totally not cool!"

Britain pouted, and America told himself firmly that it wasn't cute.

He groaned. "All right, fine," he agreed, hoping that Britain would pass out early so that America could switch it off.

Britain quietly selected a film, whilst America made himself comfortable on Britain's neat leather sofa, stretching out across it. However, as soon as the title screen appeared, America knew he'd made a huge mistake in even coming here today.

"You want to watch The Silence of the Lambs?!" America panicked, his eyes flicking between the television screen, and Britain, who stood like a shadow half in front of it, smirking.

"Are you scared?" Britain asked. "Shall I put something else on?"

America cleared his throat, narrowing his eyes. "A hero deals with every situation, no matter how scary it is!" He declared, giving Britain a challenging stare.

Britain didn't respond, and made to sit down. America had expected Britain to sit on the other sofa, as he was laid out across his, but to his surprise, the island nation lay down beside him, his back pressed against America's chest.

America swallowed, none too subtly either. "Britain, what are you doing?"

"This way you can hold my hand if you get scared," Britain murmured softly, already sounding sleepy.

America chose not to point out the fact that, if he wanted to hold Britain's hand, he'd essentially have to hug him. Instead, he just allowed himself to relax and enjoy the rare closeness.

 

At least, that was the plan. Sooner into the film than he was willing to admit, America found himself shrieking and wrapping his arms around the smaller nation, squeezing tight whenever he was particularly scared.

"Ow - be careful!" Britain exclaimed, who had seemed to sober up when America started screaming.

"Sorry!" America's apology was muffled, as he had buried his face in to Britain's messy hair. "Why do you enjoy these things?" He moaned quietly, refusing to look at the screen.

"It's really not that frightening," Britain insisted, but sat up anyway, pulling America with him. Reaching for the remote control, he paused the film, settling back down to sit on the sofa. "Listen, America... Are you all right? You're paler than a ghost."

America winced at the mention of the word 'ghost', but nodded, despite the fact that he now turning a faint green-ish colour. "I'm fine. Are you?"

Britain snorted, as if it was ridiculous that he should ever be anything but fine. "Of course." But then he remembered something that he'd been meaning to say. "And America... Thank you. For today, I mean. It's been a lovely day." He said sincerely.

America's eyes widened ever so slightly. "Really?"

Britain nodded. "Maybe I don't enjoy being alone as much as I pretend to," he admitted, before realising in horror that he'd said that out loud. "Don't tell anyone that I said that."

America's normally cheerful expression was serious for once. "I didn't know how lonely you really are," he said, his voice tinged with sadness.

"Lonely?! I'm not lonely." Britain scoffed. "I don't need anyone."

It was clear from America's eyes that he didn't believe this, but instead of saying anything, he surprised both of them in swooping forwards and almost crushing Britain in a bear hug. "I'm here for you," he murmured.

"What?" Britain was astounded. "Get off me, you oaf!" But even as he said this, he turned around and returned the hug, almost as tightly as America held him, burying his face in America's neck.

And maybe they'd both been more drunk than they'd originally thought. Maybe they were both suffering from sleep deprivation. Or maybe they'd finally chosen to be honest with each other. But whatever the reason was, when America gently pulled away, and cupped Britain's face in his gloveless palms, and they leant towards each other until their lips met in a kiss, in that moment, both could have sworn that nothing felt more right.

**Author's Note:**

> Oops, cheesy ending.  
> Thanks for reading, please review!


End file.
